


The Five People You Meet in Hell

by JustGettingBy



Series: Avatar 5 + 1 Things [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Crack, Customer Service, Firelord Zuko (Avatar), Gen, Humour, Original Character(s), Redemption, Service Industry, briefly, ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 06:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24399961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGettingBy/pseuds/JustGettingBy
Summary: Zuko was raised as a Prince, thank you very much. He shouldn’t have to be working in customer service.ORThe five times Zuko deals with the worst customers ever + the one time he refuses to be one.
Series: Avatar 5 + 1 Things [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786810
Comments: 202
Kudos: 2880
Collections: A:tla, Best of: Avatar The Last Airbender





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the tumblr post by @iconiczuko that’s like “Zuko got a redemption arc because he worked in the service industry.”

I.

Zuko is wandering through the Earth Kingdom with his uncle when, for the first time, he gets a taste of how rude the average customer can be. 

And,  _ Agni _ , the man isn’t even a customer and Zuko isn’t even working. He’s sorting through a cart of apples, trying to find the ones with the least bruising. There’s never enough coin for both him and Uncle—he has to make their few cooper pieces stretch. 

“Boy, help me load my cart,” a gruff voice calls from behind Zuko.

Zuko ignores it. He turns another apple in his hand. This one’s not too bad--only a small dark spot mars the red and he can easily pare it away with his knife.

“Kid, did you hear me?”

Zuko holds the apple in one hand and dips the other into his pocket to rummage for a coin.

“Stop ignoring me!” the man behind Zuko yells. 

Zuko doesn’t start at the noise. He  _ does _ start when a rough hand wraps around his upper arm and yanks him back from the market stall. 

“You deaf?” asks the man. His face is round and ruddy. Between his expensive-looking clothing and the way his thin lip curls in a sneer, Zuko instantly feels a swell of hate rise in his chest. But, more than anything, he’s confused. “I need you to load my cart.”

Zuko rolls his arm and shrugs off the man’s hand. “Don’t touch me.”

The man’s eyebrows crease and his sneer twists to a frown. “Do your job. Or I’ll tell your boss you’re slacking off.” 

_ What?  _ Zuko waves the man off. “Whatever.” 

“I have  _ never  _ in my life had such terrible service. Don’t you have any work ethic?”

Zuko balls his hand into a fist. He wants nothing more than to strike at the man. But that would undeniably draw attention—attention which he swore to avoid. Instead, he swallows his rage. “Whatever.”

He sets the apple back on top of the pile, shoves his hands into his pockets, and lowers his head. 

Behind him, he can hear the man yelling still. Zuko’s stomach rolls with hunger and anger. 

“No luck?” Uncle asks him when he gets back. 

Zuko folds his arms, scowls, and sits next to his Uncle. “Obviously not.” He leans his back against the building and pushes his hat down, over his eye. 

“What happened?” 

Zuko narrows his eyes. “There was an incident,” he says and leaves it at that. In his gut, an uncomfortable wave of shame swells. He holds it down. He might be banished and a traitor, but he’s still a prince, for Agni’s sake. He is _not_ a shop boy.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you read these, you might be thinking that it’s ridiculous and no one would act like that.
> 
> But they do! All of the stories are based on real things that happened to me or friends. Unfortunately.

ii.

When Zuko goes out as the blue spirit, he has one rule: only take from those who deserve it. 

There are many people in the Earth Kingdom who struggle just as much as him and Uncle. Famines and diseases and—well, the war—have left a fair share of people who struggle to get by. 

At the same time, there are citizens of the Earth Kingdom who are well off.  _ Very  _ well off. It’s not hard to realize how they made their coin—when people are starving or sick, they’d give their life savings for food and medicine. They’d take jobs in shops that paid next to nothing while the merchants collected hefty sums. 

So, yes, Zuko takes from them. He doesn’t feel bad about it. 

(He tries not to think about how—if his life had turned out differently—he’d be the one in the silk robes and fine leather sandals.)

At night, he slips into his black clothes and dons his mask. The straps rub his head and sometimes leave red lines on his skin, but he doesn’t mind. He needs it to be tight if he wants to protect his identity. The last thing he needs is yet another price on his head. 

That night, he slinks through the alleys of the town, searching for the grand house of a local merchant. Although he and Uncle had only been in the town a few days, rumours travelled fast on the streets. The merchant shorted his workers. Claimed the shop wasn’t profitable. And yet he was building a new wing on his house to entertain guests. 

Zuko figures the merchant won’t miss a few jewels from the ornate statues in his estate’s garden. He probably won’t even notice they’re missing for weeks. 

As he slips between a shop and a house and presses forward in the gap. 

From behind him, a shriek breaks through the night.

“Let go of it!” yells a woman. 

Zuko bites his lip and turns, pushing his way back to where he came from. 

On the main street, a bulky man wrestles a bag away from a middle-aged woman. Her salt-and-pepper hair is sleeked back in a fashionable way, and her face is narrowed in anger. “That’s  _ mine. _ ”

She tries, once more, to wrench her bag back. The man’s arm shoots forward and wraps around the woman’s wrist. He pins it to her back at an unnatural angle. The woman yelps in pain, her eyebrows scrunch together, and she lets her grip fall away from the bag. 

The man shoves her to the dirt and takes off in a sprint. 

Zuko’s following him, swords drawn, before he even realizes it. The muscles in his legs welcome the familiar burn of excursion; his feet pound into the dirt and explode out. When he catches the man, he’s not even out of breath. 

Zuko sweeps his leg forward, knocking the man’s feet out from underneath him. Between his height and weight, the man falls on his ass and raises a decent-sized cloud of dust. Zuko spins his blades and points them at the man’s throat. 

Under the man’s patchy mustache, his lip trembles. He raises his hands in surrender. “Just take it,” he says and points at the bag with his chin. 

Zuko sheathes his sword and nods at the man. He can respect a guy who knows when he’s beat. He picks the bag up again and jogs toward the woman. 

When he reaches her, she’s standing again. She wipes the dirt off her well-made dress and eyes Zuko. 

Zuko holds the bag out to her without saying anything. 

The woman steps forward, her eyes still locked on Zuko. She takes it from him tentatively and stares at the fabric. 

Under his mask, Zuko can’t help but smile. The whole ‘vigilante’ thing has a certain appeal. Maybe, this time tomorrow, the town will be flush with rumours about the blue spirit who protects—

“It’s ruined,” the woman says. She frowns and puts a hand on her hip. 

Zuko stares at her.  _ What? _

“The strap is broken. It’ll never look the same, even if I stitch it back up.”

Under his mask, Zuko blinks. He expected a thank you. Agni, he’d even understand if the woman grabbed her bag and scuttled away in fear. But this?

“I just bought this last week, too. Spirits—you couldn’t have kept it out of the dirt?” She purses her lips and glares. 

In his disguise, he can’t say anything. But he really fucking wants to.  _ I’ll let him get away next time.  _ The man probably needed the money more than her. Even from a distance of a few paces, he smells her cloying perfume. It makes his gut turn. 

Zuko’s nostrils flare. He shakes his head and slips back into the shadows, seething with anger. Why couldn’t she just be grateful? Would she rather have nothing? And it wasn’t like any of it was  _ his  _ fault. He wasn’t the one who took her bag. 

The night is cool, but his face burns with a familiar heat. _Agni_ , people are dense. 


	3. Chapter 3

iii.

In the lower ring of Ba Sing Se, Zuko and his uncle find jobs in a tea shop. It’s not the worst position he could imagine. But, well, there could also be  _ better  _ jobs. It’d be easier to work selling clothing or wares, Zuko thinks. Serving pays more though, and he and Uncle can’t afford to lose the tips. So, for now, the tea shop it is. 

Zuko suspects a lot of the reasons he dislikes the job boil down to the owner. The man is incompetent. Honestly, it’s a miracle the doors haven’t shuttered yet with how poorly he runs things. On the other hand, there’s not a lot of options in the lower ring that will serve at least a half-decent cup of tea (even if it isn’t up to Uncle’s standards) and the owner never presses anyone for any personal information. 

So the tea shop stays in business. 

For now.

Zuko sighs and tightens the laces of his apron. Tiredness already pricks at his head; he’s been working for a few hours already but he still has a long shift ahead of him. Hopefully Uncle will brew some sort of black tea strong enough to keep him on his feet until close. 

When the bell over the door rattles, Zuko pulls his face into a semi-smile and walks to the front. A couple stands in the entranceway, the man’s arm draped over the woman’s shoulder. He wears a cocky grin and leans in and whispers something in her ear. In response, the woman giggles and brings up her hand to hide her mouth. 

Zuko’s cheeks burn. “Welcome,” he says with as much energy as he can muster. He’s used to assholes like this. Besides, he reminds himself, they might not be laughing at him. He can hope. Still, he bites down on his lip and tries to push it out of his mind as he leads them to a table. 

He hands out the menus and folds his hands in a bundle. “Can I get you anything to start out with?”

The man doesn’t even look at the menu. “Oolong tea.”

“We’re actually out of Oolong at the moment, is there anything else--”

“How are you out of Oolong.” The man throws the menu on the table and glares at Zuko.

“Sorry, sir. We’re getting some delivered in a few days.”

The man shakes his head. “Check again.”

Zuko grits his teeth. He  _ knows _ they’re out. He served the last of the tea a few hours ago and they won’t get another delivery for two more days at least. “Certainly,” he says, keeping his face in a straight and pleasant mask. “I’ll check in the back.” He slinks off to the storage room anyway. 

In the dark and quiet, he sighs and leans against the shelf and sighs. For a moment, he can breathe. He runs his hand over his face. Why would that guy not believe him? It annoys Zuko to no end--the man is clearly acting all tough and powerful to impress his date. It sickens Zuko that it seems to be working. 

Zuko pulls in a breath and lets the scent of mixed teas linger in his nose. The earthy matcha mixes with the spice of the chai. He can do this. Just a few more hours. 

He gathers himself before he pushes back out of the storage room into the busy shop. 

“Sorry,” he repeats to the man, “we’re out.”

The man sneers. “Out? What kind of tea shop doesn’t have Oolong?”

_ A shitty one _ , Zuko thinks. Because it  _ is  _ a shitty tea shop. Can’t the man see that? 

“Just order some more.” He crosses his arms and glares at Zuko down the curve of his nose. 

“I don’t do the ordering,” Zuko says plainly. He’s sixteen, for Agni’s sake. He’s not in charge.

“Well, then you’ve lost a sale.” The man stands and grabs his date’s hand. “Come on.”

They storm out of the shop, turning heads as they fly out the door. 

Zuko stares at the empty table and blinks. He didn’t really lose a sale, he thinks, because there was nothing he wanted anyway. 

Besides, something tells him they would’ve been terrible tippers. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: A Customer makes unwanted suggestive comments to servers 
> 
> There are no physical interactions, but please be gentle with yourself if this is a triggering topic.

iv.

Working at a tea shop in the lower ring of Ba Sing Se isn’t exactly Zuko’s first choice in life—in fact, it isn’t even on the list of things he ever thought he’d have to do. The hours are long and the pay is low. When he gets back to the apartment Uncle and he rent, aches radiate from his heels up into his ankles. His clothing always smells like tea.  _ He  _ always smells like tea, even after he bathes the smell of tea still clings to his skin and hair. Zuko thinks it must be deep in his pores now. 

In spite of it all, there are a few good things. After months of drifting through the Earth Kingdom, it’s comforting to have some sense of security (as little as it may be). They don’t have to worry each day about how they’ll eat or where they’ll sleep. The anonymity of Ba Sing Se is also pleasant—never before has Zuko been free to wander through a city alone with a few coins in his pocket, free to buy street food from vendors, free to watch the swarms of people at night markets without being recognized. 

But, most of all, Zuko surprisingly likes the people he works with. 

Sure, some of them are dicks, and the manager is incompetent, but some of the other servers are warm and friendly. For the first time, Zuko actually has people his age to talk to who don’t want anything from him. There’s no way they benefit from being nice to him—he has no special favour or power anymore—and yet they’re still talking with him. They still help him learn the ropes. 

“That lady with the white scarf always orders green tea with a wedge of lemon and honey on the side,” Min, one of the other servers, tells Zuko on a busy Friday night. “You bring it to her before she even orders and she’ll tip well.”

“Um, thank you,” Zuko says. He brushes a strand of his hair back in place. The first few times Min gave him advice, he hesitated to take it. Why would she help him? Over the past month though, he realized she was truly trying to help. Once, she’d told him she wished someone could have shown her when she first started. 

So Zuko serves the woman green tea with lemon and honey on the side. She smiles broadly at him and—true to Min’s word—tips well. 

“Thanks again,” he says, “I owe you one.”

Min nods. Her black braid bobs with her head. But, when the bell at the entrance rings and they both turn to look, her smile falters. She pulls her lips into a thin line. “If you wanna pay me back, you can take that table.” 

“Is there a problem?”

Min shakes her head. “The guy’s a jerk, that’s all.”

Zuko really does owe her, so he goes up to the man standing at the front. His head is shaved roughly to his skull, leaving only a thin layer of prickly hair behind. “Where’s the other server?” he asks, his voice curt. 

“Her section is full,” Zuko lies. 

The man frowns and crosses his arms. His watery brown eyes sweep over Zuko and linger too long. Zuko swallows his discomfort and turns to the menu. “Would you still like a table?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says. His mouth turns up in a smug grin. 

Zuko can see why Min didn’t want to serve him. 

He tenses as he leads the man to a booth at the back of the shop and sets the menu in front of him. “Would you like to order now or do you need a minute?” Zuko asks with as much of a fake smile as he can muster plastered across his face. 

“Black tea. Sugar on the side.” He doesn’t even glance at the menu; he keeps his eyes locked on Zuko the whole time. 

“Alright. Is there anything else I can get you?”

The man says nothing for a second. Once again, he grins. His eyes drop down to Zuko’s feet and run back up again. “I can think of  _ other  _ things I’d like.”

Zuko’s stomach twists into a knot and his face falls. How anger tears through his mind. How dare he? He wants to lash out, but, at the same time, he’s frozen under the man’s leering gaze. “What did you say?” he asks through gritted teeth. 

“Relax,” the man waves Zuko off. “Learn to take a joke.” 

As much as Zuko wants to drag the man into the street and fight him right there, he can’t. He  _ needs  _ this job. He has other tables that are trying to flag him down. There’s still an hour left in his shift. 

Zuko swallows a lump in his throat. “I’ll be right back with your tea.” 

As he walks to the back, the rest of the shop feels distant and hazy. He’s too aware of himself—of his hot cheeks and his hair that refuses to cooperate and how much muscle he’s lost over the last few months. 

When a gentle hand rests on his arm, he yanks it away before looking. “Don’t touch me,” he grumbles. 

“Lee.” It’s Min. She’s standing next to him, her face twisted in worry. “I’m so sorry. I thought—well, since you’re a guy and all—I thought he’d leave you alone. I never would have asked otherwise.” 

Zuko frowns. “You shouldn’t have to put up with that either.”

She sighs. “It’s just...comments. He’s never actually done anything. And it’s not exactly like I can just kick out every customer like that.”

“Why not?” If it were up to Zuko, he’d haul them out of the whole damn  _ city  _ let alone shop. 

“Spirits, Lee. I forget how green you are sometimes.” She says nothing more on it—she only lifts her tray and returns to bring her table more hot water. 

Zuko balls his hand into a fist and focuses on breathing evenly. He’s tired, but he has to ignore that for now. 

After his shift, the Blue Spirit has rounds to make. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for all your kind comments!! Please vent about how much you hate customers! They’re wrong and you should say it!

v.

The Jasmine Dragon is a step up from his first job, Zuko will admit that. Uncle keeps the store in pristine order—Zuko supposes that’s the general in him. Every tea has its place in the back; it’s not randomly jumbled together. The rags are cleaned regularly and with rigour. There are proper heaters with safety guards to boil the water. Every sale is tracked, every broken bag of tea is marked out, and inventory is counted each night after Uncle counts the coin. Everything runs smoothly and efficiently—almost like the military, Zuko thinks with some mirth. 

But Uncle’s too soft for it to really feel militant. His want for order comes from a place of care, Zuko knows. He’s proud of this little shop and (Agni be damned) Zuko is too. None of this was inherited. None of this was bought. Uncle built this alone (even if he did insist Zuko helped). 

There’s only one thing that Zuko can’t stand in this place: the customers. He thought a tea shop in the Upper Ring would mean better tips, not worse ones. Half the customers are nobles and the other half rich merchants for Agni’s sake. Still, after they drink, they never leave more than a few spare copper coins behind. Some leave none at all. 

He expected them to have better manners, too. Most of the people who filter through the shop have spent years getting manners and etiquette grilled into them by stone-faced tutors. Zuko knows well just how strict those instructions can be. 

And yet nearly every day someone is sneering at his apron or yelling about the prices (which are more than fair) or whining that their order isn’t right (even when it is). 

Manners, apparently, only apply to other nobles. He’s even seen some of the supposedly ‘courtly’ ladies snap at the merchant women. As a server, he’s sure he barely registers in their mind. Zuko might as well be a doormat or a potted plant for as much attention they give him. 

He gets used to the rudeness fairly quickly. 

The stupidity, however, never fails to shock him. 

One day, on a slow morning in the shop, a woman flags him over to her table. 

Zuko stops himself from rolling his eyes. He was _just_ there. The lady ordered a pot of Rooibos and her friend ordered a pot of camomile with honey. “How can I help you?” 

The waving lady smiles at him, which unnerves Zuko. It’s too wide—ingenuine. Her heavy, pale makeup cracks as her mouth moves. “Can I get this hotter?”

Zuko blinks. He just brought it over a minute ago. Uncle had it over the _flames_ maybe two minutes ago. It should be boiling. “Is it cold?” 

“No, no. It’s hot. But not hot enough.”

Zuko nods and lifts the pot. “I’ll be right back.” 

He gets Uncle to make a new one—he says that a few extra leaves are worth it for customer loyalty. Zuko disagrees with that, but that’s another story. 

Once again, he brings the pot to the lady. It’s hot now, there’s no mistake. Even when Zuko was just holding the handle he could feel the heat radiating up. 

“Sorry for the confusion,” he says as he set it on the table. He gives the two ladies—and they must be reasonably high ranking, based on the fine silk of their dresses—a shallow bow and goes to bring some water to table two. 

“Um, excuse me?” The lady’s voice rings out again. 

Zuko cringes and turns back to their table. “Yes?”

“It’s still not hot enough.”

Zuko blinks. “It’s boiling.” 

“Isn’t there any way you could, you know, make it hotter?”

For a moment, Zuko stands there and searches for words. But, if he’s learned anything, it’s that customers often speak in riddles. “I could get you a tea cosy,” he offers. Better to give her the benefit of the doubt. “It’ll keep the tea warm much longer if you and your friend plan to stay awhile and talk.”

She shakes her head. “No, no, I just want it hotter. To drink now.” 

Zuko presses his lips into a line. _If the water is any hotter, it’ll be steam_. He’s had many strange and stupid requests over the last few weeks, but Agni, this might be the winner. “I don’t think I can do that, my lady,” he says. Even though he _knows_ he can’t do it. He can’t break the laws of nature to make water hotter than boiling so this lady can have extra hot tea. 

(It’s not like she’s a child, either. Or even a teen. This lady had to be in her thirties, Zuko thinks. She probably has children of her own, Agni help them.)

Her nose wrinkles at being told ‘no’. “Whatever.” She examines her finely manicured nails. “I thought you said this place was good,” she sneers at her friend. 

“It is, Kar En,” her friend mumbles into her cup. “Best in the city.” Her cheeks lightly flush pink. This lady, he realizes, is faintly familiar. She’s been in a few times and is always pleasant enough, even if she doesn’t tip well.

 _Good,_ Zuko thinks, _be embarrassed and don’t ever bring your friend back._

“Well I, for one, _won’t_ be coming back.”

“I am so sorry to hear that,” Zuko says, knowing damn well he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. 

The woman’s eyebrows knit together in something between anger and shock. “I have _never_ been spoken to with such insolence. Get me your manager,” she demands. She pushes her chair back and stands with arms crossed. 

“Gladly,” Zuko says and walks to the back with a smirk.

Uncle stands there, measuring out a new pot of Oolong. “Is everything alright, nephew?”

“There’s a lady who wants to speak to you,” he says. 

Uncle sighs and shakes his head, but he leaves the back room anyway. 

Zuko grabs a broom and starts to sweep. He shouldn’t provoke customers like that. He shouldn’t. 

Unless—

No. 

He can’t. 

He grips the broom tighter and sweeps some more, even though the floor has hardly a speck of dust or stray tea leaf. 

It’s not like Uncle will fire him, but they need the Jasmine Dragon to have a good reputation. 

Zuko hears the woman’s shrill voice through the door and he can’t help but cringe. He shouldn’t have put Uncle in that position, he realizes. His face feels hot and his hands a bit clammy. 

So yeah. No more being smart with the customers. Even if they ask him to do something that physically isn’t possible. 

Instead, he’ll be the perfect human doormat. What a way he’s come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don’t work in the service industry, this might seem far fetched, but I promise you this really was something a customer asked me for once...


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your lovely comments!!

+i.

It takes time to get used to being the Fire Lord. Zuko knows he’s far from perfect—he doesn’t have the courtly graces that should have been drilled into him since birth. He’s too stiff and awkward. The language he uses is less than suited for _any_ noble. (But, honestly, what did anyone expect after spending his early teens with sailors?) He misses cues. He fumbles his speeches. He’s stepped on toes (both figuratively and literally one time at a ball). He’s far from the perfect Fire Lord. Often, he thinks his people deserve better. They deserve someone who acts the part. 

But _Agni_ , he’s trying. 

He’ll fight for a better future. Even when his cheeks burn as he realizes he committed yet another faux-pas, he’s not about to back down. Because, Zuko knows, that’s too easy. He didn’t come all this way for nothing.

So he holds his head high and tries his best, time and again. He works on policies. He lets his people know they’re valued. 

One day, Zuko is walking to a meeting with the dignitaries from the Earth Kingdom when he hears an angry shout from the kitchen. It’s not unusual to hear calls from the kitchens—it’s always loud as all hell when it’s busy, and it’s definitely busy today. There’s a banquet tonight to honour their guests. In all honesty, Zuko’s been to more banquets and feasts and balls over the past six months than he can count. More than ever should be necessary. They all blend together. 

Once he’s secured his position, he’s stripping back the extravagance. But for now, he puts up with the pomp and circumstance. It keeps a decent number of nobles off his back. 

But today, the sound coming from the kitchen doesn’t sound like the usual humdrum of work. Above the hissing of pots and calls from the cooks, there’s someone barking harsh and angry words. 

Zuko turns down the hall. He can be a few minutes late for the meeting. He’s the Fire Lord, after all.

Zuko takes a deep breath before pushing his way in. “Is everything alright here?” he asks, keeping his tone level. 

One of the staff, a young woman named Ayumi (at least, Zuko’s fairly sure that’s her name), stands still as a statue. Her mouth is a flat line; her eyes are blank. In front of her stands one of Zuko’s advisors, Minister Sato. His whole face is covered in a sheen of sweat. A vein bulges out of his forehead. 

“The _problem_ is that this planner can’t even keep a plan,” he shouts.  
Ayumi’s lip twitches. “Sir, I told you—”

“What part of _apricot tarts_ don’t you understand?” Minister Sato gestures wildly to a platter of sweet looking pastries that, while looking delicious, are most definitely not apricot tarts. 

“I apologize, Minister Sato,” Ayumi says with a small bow of her head, “but as I told you—”

“I cannot believe the staff of this palace are so incomp—”

“That’s _enough._ ” Anger bubbles in Zuko’s head. He’s been on the wrong side of one to many conversations like this and he can’t help but running through them again and again. “You will not speak to my staff that way.”

Minister Sato bristles with indignation. “She messed up the menu for the dinner with the dignitaries tonight.” 

Zuko turns to Ayumi. “Is that true?”

Ayumi looks much too pale. “Your Majesty, the menu is different from the foods that Minister Sato first asked for a few weeks ago, but he agreed to the changes.”

“I did _not—_ ” 

Zuko holds up his hand to silence Sato. “Please continue.”

“There’s a shortage of apricots. A bad rot this year, sir. We weren’t able to get enough. I told Minister Sato of the issue and suggested that we serve Mochi instead. He agreed to the changes.”

Zuko turns to the minister. “Is this true?”

“I did no such thing.” He crosses his arms over his chest. His beard comes to a sharp point that strikes Zuko in the wrong way—it’s too harsh for the man’s round face. “I would never serve Mochi to Earth Kingdom guests.”

“But you _did_ agree,” Ayumi stresses. “You signed off the final menu.” She reaches into a bag at her feet and lifts out a scroll. 

Zuko takes the paper. He glances down. Sure enough, the full menu is written clear as day, Mochi and all. And, at the bottom, it’s signed. “Is this not your signature?” 

Minister Sato’s face flushes a deep red. “It’s not proper to serve Earth Kingdom guests a food that’s suited for carnivals.”

“Is this your signature?” Zuko asks again, his voice still as calm and level as when he first asked. 

“Well—”

“Minister.”  
  
“It is,” he admits.

“Well, it’s settled then.” Zuko curls the scroll back up. “I will not stand for you treating the staff this way. I think you owe Ayumi an apology.”

The minister balks. Zuko folds his hands and gives his best cutting grin. “She’s waiting.”

“I apologize for the misunderstanding,” Minister Sato says through gritted teeth. 

“Good.” Zuko nods. “Now I believe you have more important things to do than harass my staff. I suggest you get to it.” 

Minister Sato rolls his shoulder, turns, and leaves the kitchens without another word. The door clatters against its frame in his wake. 

“Your Majesty,” Ayumi says. Her eyes are wide. She’s a bit shocked too. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” Zuko says. “You did your job. None of this was your fault. And I happen to like Mochi—it’s not an issue as far as I’m concerned.”

“Still sir, I appreciate it.”

“Really, it was nothing.” Zuko smiles to himself. “Besides, you don’t know how many times I’ve wanted to do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come vibe with me on tumblr @snailwriter


End file.
